A Season for Tending (6 page)

Catherine turned to Samuel. “He’s with your
sister
?”

Christian laughed. “Wow, that’s a growl to put these mama dogs to shame.”

Catherine quickly backtracked. “That’s not what I meant. I love Leah. But I had no idea she and my brother had plans to meet tonight.”

“Maybe they didn’t,” Christian said. “She might’ve had a date. But if she was free, Arlan wanted her to go with him to the music store. He’s been planning to buy another guitar.”

Anxiety twisted inside Catherine’s chest, threatening to steal her breath. Christian had said “buy another guitar” as if it were something to be proud of, something that was part of the Amish ways. Her brother’s defiance in this area had caused their parents to be excluded from the last communion service. Arlan had regretted pushing the limits and causing the church leaders to discipline his parents, so as an outward show of repentance, he’d turned over his guitar to the bishop. When he’d brought the forbidden item under Daed’s roof, he’d known that their parents would be held accountable to the church leaders … if the ministers found out, which they did. Arlan had agreed never to go that far again. So what was he thinking?

Christian sighed. “Sorry I brought it up.” He rolled his eyes. “But it’s not news that Arlan loves music or that he wants Leah’s opinion about nearly everything. She even got him a gig in town next weekend.”

“A gig?” Catherine asked. “What’s that?”

Samuel shook his head, his facial expression saying it wasn’t important.

“You don’t know?” Christian all but gawked at her. “Did you do anything remotely against the
Ordnung
during your teen years?”

The Ordnung was the set of rules the Amish lived by. The word meant “order.” Did Christian think it was fine to live the teen years in disorder? To do things they’d regret the rest of their days?

Samuel closed the top part of the stall where the golden retrievers were. “She’s always accepted the Old Ways and honored God through sacrifice of self.” He winked at her. “It’s who she is.”

Christian looked doubtful at Catherine, as if he disliked this revelation about her. “Getting a gig means Leah arranged for him to play his guitar somewhere specific and get paid for it.”

Catherine grabbed Samuel’s arm. “Tell me she wouldn’t have done that. Surely. I thought he gave up music after—”

Christian scoffed. “What planet do you live on?”

“Christian,” Samuel corrected, “you’re not helping.”

“Sorry.”

Catherine bent down to put the cocker spaniel back in the stall, but the pup clung to her arm and whimpered. After she peeled her paws off and stood, the pup climbed the wooden slats, barking and jumping to get back to Catherine. “Samuel, you have to do something about Leah. It’s bad enough that she’s doing things she shouldn’t, but to pull Arlan down too …”

“It’s music, for Pete’s sake.” Christian propped the palm of his hand against a support beam. “A lot of it is about God and family.”

Samuel slid his hand into hers. “You know Arlan. He’s not going to do anything stupid, even if Leah is helping him play for money.”

She gazed into his eyes, begging him to think of something. Unlike him and every other Amish family they knew, she had only one sibling. That pain still tore at her mother’s heart, and it’d kill her parents if they knew Arlan was buying another musical instrument.

“He’ll be fine, Catherine,” Samuel said. “He’s doing what young people do—trying new things and discovering they’re not as fun or valuable as they first thought.”

She took a cleansing breath, trusting his words. “Okay.”

“Instead of focusing on things we have no power over,”—Samuel reached into the stall and picked up her favorite buff-colored pup, the one with her paws stretched up high on the stall door, still trying to get to Catherine, and placed the dog back in her arms—“how about we focus on our new dog?”

“What? Really?” she squealed, wanting to give him a great big hug—puppy and all. But she restrained herself for the sake of propriety. “This is the best way ever to redeem a difficult night, Samuel. Denki.”

As they walked back to the rig, Catherine cradled her adorable cocker spaniel. Pink and orange hues striped the sky as the sun began to dip behind the mountains. “What should we name her?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

She gazed at the pup, whose bright eyes were beginning to get a little droopy with sleep. “I don’t want some generic name like Daisy or Ginger. I think it should mean something special to both of us.”

After Samuel helped Catherine into the rig, she settled the puppy in her lap. The puppy looked as content as if she had been there all her life.

Samuel climbed onto the seat beside her. “How about Token?”

“What?”

“As in a token of comfort.”

She giggled. “That’s wonderfully romantic.”

“Romantic? How about practical? I salvaged our evening, maybe our weekend or even our entire year, with a dog that cost me nothing.”

“Puppies are never really free. You know that, right?”

“I know. But I’ll swing it without dipping into savings, and it’ll be worth it if she’ll remind you that our siblings will grow up, and until then we can’t take out our frustrations on each other, okay?”

“You mean me not taking my frustrations out on you. Your sister is the one always stirring up trouble, not Arlan.”

He didn’t respond. Did he disagree with her?

She slid across the seat and snuggled against him. “I don’t think I could take life in stride if it weren’t for you.” She stared at the furry little face, which was looking more tired every minute.

Samuel flicked the reins to get the horse moving. “Arlan has a good head on his shoulders.”

Catherine relaxed a bit. Samuel was wonderful at calming her too-easily-frazzled nerves. As she cuddled the new puppy, she raised her little head and looked up into Catherine’s face, eyes gleaming with hope for a happy, carefree life with her, just as Catherine hoped for her future with Samuel.

“How about if we name her Hope?”

“That sounds like as good a name as any.”

She snuggled deeper into Samuel’s shoulder and listened to the puppy snoring in her lap. Hope. Ya, that suited their pup—and their life—just fine.

FIVE

Something clanged and clattered, drawing Rhoda’s attention from the raspberry vines sprawled on a trestle in front of her. Dusk had fallen, and she hadn’t even noticed. After gently dropping the ripe berries into the bushelbasket, she straightened the kinks in her back and looked beyond the picket fence to her elderly neighbor’s garden.

Sweat trickled down Rhoda’s back as she searched the neat rows of half-grown cornstalks and struggling vegetable plants to see if the woman needed help. The mid-July air vibrated with the sounds of insects. A tin pail rolled to a stop, and the clanking noise ceased. A thin, shadowy figure stepped out from the cornrows, walked toward her, and picked up the bucket. Then Mrs. Walker did something she hadn’t done in years: she lifted her face toward Rhoda. Perhaps in the twilight she was unsure who Rhoda was and thought Rhoda was Mamm, because Rhoda favored her mother a lot.

Rhoda remained in place, waiting, hoping Mrs. Walker would realize who she was and speak anyway. She knew better than to initiate a conversation. Her instructions were clear: keep doing her tasks and say nothing to Mrs. Walker.

But was it possible the old woman had changed her mind about Rhoda?

Rhoda had all but frightened the life out of Mrs. Walker two years ago, and although Rhoda was no people pleaser, she’d love to make up for scaring her so badly—if the woman would give her a chance. But despite Daed’s hopes of making peace with their neighbors by removing her herb garden two months ago, Rhoda had seen no evidence of reconciliation.

A nighthawk cawed a nasal
peent, peent
, then flew inches from Rhoda’s face, startling her. The air seemed to quiver with tension. “Easy.” She spoke quietly, as if cooing to a skittish horse.

Even in the fading light, Rhoda saw the woman tense. Mrs. Walker threw the tin pail to the ground and hurried toward her home.

Disappointment wrapped itself around Rhoda. Biting back the sadness, she gently plucked more berries. She couldn’t help how Mrs. Walker felt about her. She couldn’t stop the rumors. The lies. The fear.

Strums of music, like someone practicing chords or tuning a guitar, broke through the sounds of nature. She guessed the neighbor down the block was gearing up for another Friday night party.

Ignoring the unfamiliar tune, she sang softly as she worked, stopping her songs only long enough to whisper work-related instructions to herself. With her basket full, she headed for the gate.

Children’s voices filtered from inside the house, and she noticed a light moving from one window to another. Someone was wheeling the gas pole lamp from the kitchen to the living room, most likely her Mamm or Daed. Once the sun began to sink behind the hills, they tended to keep a light with them rather than rely on those sitting on a counter or table. But there was no shortage of people to move the lamp. The house already bulged with the three families living there, and her sister-in-law Lydia was expecting another baby in three months.

Landon pulled into her driveway and hopped out of his truck. He grabbed a roll of packing tape and several flat cardboard boxes from behind the seat of his truck. “It’s almost dark, and you’re just now finishing. I knew I was a genius to partner with Rhode Side Stands.”

“Who’d have thought that a UPS Store clerk would become such a loyal assistant and friend?”

“Me.” He followed her across the paved driveway.

Four years ago, when she was eighteen and started selling her produce to various stores, she’d taken her jars of canned goods to the UPS Store to have them packaged and delivered. Landon had offered all sorts of tips and ideas to save her money. He’d also suggested she let him drive some of the items to
nearby stores and had volunteered to come to her place for a Saturday or two to teach her how to pack and ship as inexpensively as possible.

Until that time, Rhoda ran her business without much advice or help from others. Her brothers John and Steven were handymen, just like her Daed. They could do whatever people needed: build out unfinished rooms, like basements, or clean gutters or make repairs. Admirable work, but no one made a lot of money. They had some business knowledge, but none of them had known how to help Rhoda go from selling items at a roadside stand to selling them to stores.

Landon had. He’d even set up what he called a simple website for selling her product. She’d looked at it once at the UPS Store, but Landon handled all that, updating the site and bringing her the few orders that came in.

If she had room to grow more fruit and had a bigger workspace to can it, her business could easily grow. Even if she could use her mother’s kitchen, she could accomplish a lot more in less time. But so many people sharing the same house meant little kitchen access.

Her brother Steven and his wife, Phoebe, had once owned a place of their own, but the economic downturn had caused him, her Daed, and John to make less money. When Steven could no longer afford their house payment, he had to sell the house for less than he’d paid for it.

John and Lydia had always lived in the Byler home. Even with their economic struggles, they had been saving for years and house hunting for several months. With three children now and another on the way, they needed their own place.

Rhoda didn’t go with them to look at houses. Even if she had time, which she didn’t, entering a place where other families had lived caused her senses to play tricks on her, making her pick up on echoes from the past.

Once she and Landon reached the narrow set of stairs that led to the cellar, he went ahead of her, entered the room, and held open the screen door. Two people could not stand side by side on the cellar steps. If she even wrapped her
arms around a bushelbasket before taking the stairs, the cinder-block walls would scrape the skin off her arms.

She entered the dank room, poured the berries from the basket into a large sieve that sat in one of the two oversized mud sinks, and turned on cool water to soak them. Dark and confining as it was, this was the center of operations for Rhode Side Stands.

Landon unfolded a box. “I saw cars parking along the sidewalk on the other side of the street, and I heard a band or something when I turned onto the block.”

“Woohoo.” She raised her fists in the air, mocking enthusiasm. “Another party. I just hope they leave me and my gardens alone this time.”

“I don’t think it’s the guys who live there that throw rocks and stuff. Seems more like something—”

She held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear your suspicions. Just work.”

She struck a match and lit a natural gas lantern that hung from the ceiling. Her workspace was more primitive than any Amish business she was familiar with, like carpenters’ or quilters’ shops or a dry-goods store. Although a lot of Amish women canned, she didn’t know of any full-fledged Amish business that operated out of a cellar.

The cellar and her parents’ home above it had been built in the seventeen hundreds. She thought of the Amish men, her ancestors, digging out dirt more than two hundred years ago to build this cellar, and here she was, past the new millennium, still using the compact space. It had the original dirt walls, but her Daed had constructed concrete walls and floors over the dirt and sealed it, making the place clean for her food preparation.